We Are Mice
by YearsDissolving
Summary: Summary Coming Soon / OC x Commissioner Gordon.


Author's Note: Well, I've decided on a new little story. I'm not sure how this will turn out, or if I'll even like it at all enough to keep it around. I've had ideas about it floating around in my mind for a while, but, I didn't decide to actually try writing it until tonight.

It's for an OC/Commissioner Gordon idea I've wanted to do. We'll see how it goes.

I'm somewhat picturing a time after The Dark Knight, maybe a year or a few months, but, I added Harley Quinn in there. Somewhat AU, perhaps, I'm not sure. I'm a bit worried on how I will write The Joker in there. I'm not going to do the annoying "ah's" at the end of everything he says. Anyone who has seen the movie is quite aware of how he speaks. I'm also trying desperately to fully form RR as a character, since I've never had a chance to use her or even written her out before at all. I have an idea on how she looks and her general being (how she acts, etc). I want to get something solid before I take her too far, so, I decided to write this out.

It's a prologue-type-deal. Writing from her perspective on how she ended up where she did and the first time she saw Commissioner Gordon. I may go back and fix a few things at some point, but, I would like to get a first chapter in soon and see how I feel about it.

As for things like disclaimers: I, obviously, do not own anything Batman related. The name of the story, I got from the song "We Are Mice" by Azure Ray.

Blah blah blah.

Long wall of text is long.

* * *

Honestly, I'm not sure how I ended up where I have. . .

I remember my original goal and how it began, but, how I ended up with who I ended up? No, I don't understand how that happened at all. It all happened so quickly, I've still, yet, to work it out in my head. Even after all of this time. I remember seeing that black and white face, I remember the squeal and then I remember a warehouse. I've not seen that warehouse since then. But, they all tend to look the same after a while. They're always moving, I tend to find myself caught up in the flow.

I suppose I really shouldn't complain, it's all been awfully helpful. And besides, traveling with The Joker and Harley Quinn isn't _too_ terrible. He's just a fucking psychopath is all. But, you all know that, right? Of course you do. You've all seen the papers, you've seen the news reports and heard the stories. One doesn't really know true terror until you're traveling with him. I didn't, anyways. He can be funny after a while. . . Once he sets himself into your mind. But, perhaps that's your own mental state dissolving.

The fact that he could kill any of us at any point is well ingrained into our thoughts. He doesn't let us forget it. He's the boss, after all. The mastermind and the one who gets us where we're heading. I shouldn't complain too much. It's my own damn fault. I got myself into this mess. I don't see what's wrong with Harley, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, please. I adore her, I really do. She's one of the most loving people I've ever met. You wouldn't think so, would you? If it weren't for The Joker, though, she'd probably still be on her original career path. She's accepting, is the issue. She's far too accepting. She's head over heels for this clown.

I've never seen such a co-dependent relationship. I'm not sure what she gets out of it, but, she gets something and she always comes crawling back, no matter what. I have no room to speak, really. It's none of my business. I'd hate to see her dead, though. But, in times like these, you can only fend for yourself. I'm no hero, I'm a coward and I'm far too terrified of speaking out. It's better her than me. I'm no Batman, I'm not here to save anyone.

I don't want to die. I don't want to end up dead. But, I can't really do anything about it at this point. I can't just get up and leave. No, they'd find me. I don't believe Harley would try to stop it, either. Not as if she could. But, if he told her to kill me, that'd be it. I think I could fight her, but, not him. No, not him.

I'm rambling. I do this a lot, forgive me. I'm still trying to figure this out myself. I'm twenty-two and a complete minion. A year ago, I was a normal college student, living a normal life for the most part. Well, as normal as living in Gotham can be. It's normal for those who've always been there. You know exactly what's going on around you. You know how dangerous it is. But, instead of the city becoming a ghost town, we all sit back and pray we're not next.

I'm a spoiled brat, probably. I was raised well, my adoptive family has always been well off. I shouldn't even be in this position. I should've been happy with what I was given. I don't know what's wrong with me, really.

"You're just at _that_ age," my mother tells me. What age would that be? I figured people went through this in their teens, not twenties. Maybe I was wrong, what do I know?

I must sound horrid right now. Whining and carrying on as if this were the end of the world. Though, maybe it is. My world, anyways.

How dramatic, right?

I've always been this way, though. I always tend to act like the world is falling apart.

But, I don't think I'm too out of line this time.

Either way, this isn't what you're here for, that's for sure.

You're curious, though, "How the hell does a girl like this end up with the Clown Prince of Crime?"

"How do you end up as Russian Roulette?"

When I was two-years-old, I was adopted by the family I live with now. My poor mother was unable to have children, but, obviously they wanted some if they ended up with my sister and I. On business to Russia, they checked out a few orphanages and there I was, "We knew you'd fit in right away," my father says, "How?" I always ask in response, I was two-years-old! How does one automatically feel that way toward someone? I'm grateful, though. How could I not be?

If this is such, though, how did I end up on a crime spree across Gotham?

Uncle George never touched me inappropriately. In fact, I don't even have an Uncle George. Daddy never beat me. Mummy isn't a pill popping verbal abuser feeling as though she her life is completely over at forty-something-years-old. My sister is brilliant and doesn't outshine me in any shape or form, nor I her. I did well in school, I've never done drugs and I've never touched hard liquor. I think the worst thing I've ever done is the horrid habit of smoking I have. I have a great relationship with my family and I've never lied to them. . . Aside from this. It's a pretty damn big one, too.

To be honest, I do have a reason for this. It isn't some sick need to fit in, it isn't some sort of underlying mental issue I have where I get pleasure out of killing or hurting people or stealing. But, we'll get to that later. It'll obviously appear at some point. I'm just trying to give my perspective on this life. On being. . .

"_The Russian Roulette._"

It's a bit of a stupid name, isn't it? It seemed so clever and perfect when I picked it out. I was going through my metaphorical, deep phase at the time. That's over now and I still, sort of, like the name. "Rou" is what Harley calls me, though, or "Cupcake". Personally, I like "Cupcake" better. It's sort of cute. In that accent of hers.

I saw the world as some sort of giant Russian Roulette game when I came up with the name. Everything is a gamble. Picking out your cereal in the morning can be some sort of game of chance. "If I choose the Captain Crunch, will I end up with the top of my mouth cut up or will all go well?" Or "If I choose the Lucky Charms, will I get a bunch of marshmallows or that nasty cereal they toss in with it?"

. . . Those are pretty horrid examples, but, I hope you get it.

Really, Russian Roulette just fit. It still does. My life is a game of chance at this point. I know the consequences, though. I'll end up in Arkham Asylum or I'll end up dead in an alley way, maybe even in prison, assuming one of the other ones don't get me first. I'm kind of shocked I'm still free, to be honest. It's all in good time, I suppose. Then the gig will be up. Everyone will find out who I really am.

Even after all of this, I'm still not sure what happened that night. . .I'm still not in my right mind. You'd think the memory would have slowed down by now. But, it's still in a blur. I can still feel the grabbing, pulling and yelling. I know it was Harley that grabbed me. It was Harley who ripped into my arm and pulled me out of there. I think this is why I adore her so much. She saved my life. I'm probably in more danger because of it, but, she saved me, none-the-less. It was my begging that allowed me to end up with them. Harley firmly on my side with 'Mister J's' and 'She could be helpful in the long run'.

"If you fail to get the punchline, you're dead." Was the response and from that moment on, I was there everytime I was called upon. I'm not stupid enough to deny The Joker what he wants. He says be somewhere, you better be there. He says to shoot someone between the eyes, you better do it or he will and you will be next.

I hate him.

But, who doesn't, aside from Harley.

I don't know why she was so intent on making me one of them. Wanting me along for the ride. Maybe she wanted another female around. Maybe she wanted someone to take the fall with her or for her.

I'm of no threat to her. I have no interest in The Joker. I'm not in love with him. I don't want in his pants. I don't want him to make me his Clown Princess of the Crime World. He has no real interest in me, either (and to be completely honest, I don't think he has any interest in anyone but himself). I just want to be along for the ride. I just want what I'm here for. I've, somehow, ended up useful, though. Just as she promised I would. I wasn't aware of how powerful fear was. I wasn't aware of how desperately I wanted to achieve my goals. Not until I ended up here.

I'm thankful for them, though. In a sick sort of way. They've not killed me, they've not turned me in, they're helping me get what I want. Without meaning to, I'm sure. He's got his own agenda, she's got hers and I've got mine. It just ends up easier for us to be traveling this way together. It's almost like a twisted, disgusting family. A wolf pack, maybe. We're not really interested in one another for the most part. We'd all sell each other up the river to save ourselves. But, we work together to make things easier. To make it harder for Batman and the police force to get their hands on us. To set up _his_ plans. To gather what we need. To survive. But, _he_ could probably survive without either of us.

In some sort of sick way, he probably does care for Harley. Not how she'd like, but, he's kept her alive despite the way she is. That doesn't stop him from beating her to the edge of her life or throwing her to the sharks. She's still alive, though. He allows her to act this way, most of the time. I'm not a psychologist, but, even I know this isn't normal or healthy. It's none of my business, really. I shouldn't judge. She's happy. He's - He's something. I never know what the hell he's feeling or what he's thinking. I don't think anyone else can, either. What a perfect shtick for a criminal clown, though.

I'm off topic again. . . I can't seem to focus anymore.

It was my third night out, I remember. . . I was out trying this thing again. This criminal being I had somehow created. It was probably more of a game to me then, it wasn't taking me where I wanted, though. Petty crimes so far. A robbery, an attack on a family and then. . . It was that gathering. Through the grape vine I heard of a meeting between two criminals, I can't even remember their names. Lower beings, no one of importance - To me anyways. But, I thought, 'If I can take them down, perhaps my name will appear out there somewhere. It will get me somewhere.' I don't even remember my plan, but, it was obviously not well thought out.

I was unaware The Joker had something to do with them. I wish I had known more about how he worked. I should've done more research to learn of the criminals around me. To know who to cross and who not to cross. I was an even bigger coward back then, though. Seeing the Joker was worse then than it is now. I still get the sickness in my stomach, I still get the feeling in my spine and the voice screaming in my head, but, then. . . Back then it was as if I had fallen into the Underworld and stared straight up into the hell beast below.

Now, I think I'd rather see the hell beast.

I'm sure I will one day.

I'm still not sure what he had to do with that man, but, I'm not planning on asking anytime soon. I don't want to set him off. If it were my business, I'd know.

As I said earlier, I'm a coward. I wasn't lying. When things started to turn sour, I wanted to get out of there. Who wouldn't? When they appeared, when his voice echoed through, I knew I was in the wrong place.

This is where things begin to turn dark.

Escape. Escape was my only notion. Of course, in a fit of panic and confusion, I wasn't going about it very gracefully.

I remember the fall. The stumble. The feeling of something gripping me tightly and the squeal that emitted from it.

Poor Harley, I hadn't meant to hit her. I hadn't meant to fall into her. But, there I was, face to face with that painted face. Her bright, blue eyes flashed and I figured that was it. She was going to shoot me. She probably would have if the call to get out of there wasn't echoing around us. I don't know she didn't just do it, but, somehow I ended up out of there with her dragging me along.

From that moment on, I cannot remember what happened. I remember feeling sick and begging for my life. It's probably shock. Shock that he didn't kill me as soon as he saw me. The Joker doesn't just look someone over and go, 'Oh, I won't kill you. I could use you.' No, The Joker doesn't need anyone. He goes through henchmen like toilet paper. No one is of actual use to him. But, once you're in, you're not out until he puts you out.

For now, I'm biding my time until he decides I'm in the way, or he's sick of looking at me. He's a star in his own way and every star needs an entourage, I suppose. Harley and I are just there as an entourage.

Somehow, all worked out from that time and now.

About two months after that, I was still desperately trying to please him. Seem as though he needed me around, though, I know now that will never happen. The Joker will never need anyone around. There are tons of girls out there who are more qualified to take this part.

He hadn't killed me yet was all I was aware of and I wanted to make sure I didn't end up on the death toll. It was a pretty normal night, for Joker standards. A night like the others I was slowly growing accustom to. Except things weren't going well. The Joker doesn't usually have a set plan for things, it's mainly, 'We're doing this, let's go.' The end. So, when things do turn sour, it's every man and woman for themselves.

Which is exactly how I took it. I was getting out of there. Harley was close behind me, I remember feeling her push at me. Following me out of the closest route we could find. My body shoved against the door and we were out. I could feel the cold air wash over me and the feeling of relief that we may have a chance. Then I heard Harley scream "DROP IT!" Freezing, I gathered myself and turned as fast as I could.

I didn't notice _him_. If I had, I would've been more prepared. I jerked my arm upward and pointed the gun toward the man as I heard the sound of the heavy weapon hit the ground. I knew this man. Commissioner Gordon. He rose his hands slightly, letting us know we were in control. I was shaking. He could see it. It was obvious. He looked at the gun for a moment before looking back up to me. "Do it, Rou. Do it." Harley grumbled behind me, her gun still pointing outward. She was egging me on.

He continued to stare at me, but, I made a mistake I know better not to do now. I looked him in the eyes. My conscience isn't completely dead. My heart raced, I swallowed hard. I was only just starting to build a name in the crime world, but, shooting him would've been an amazing accomplishment, but, I couldn't do it.

I began to back up, reaching out with my free hand, I pushed Harley's gun down, "Go. Get out of here, Harles."

"But, Rou -"

"I said get out of here!" I could hear her turn and take off. Listening to the echo of footsteps, I waited until I couldn't hear her anymore. Just the sound of sirens, screams and gun shots. "Stay calm." I breathed, slowly moving forward and kicking his gun down the alleyway. "Don't move. . ." Beginning my move backwards, I got halfway down the alleyway before I turned and took off.

I didn't look back. I wasn't brave enough to look back. If he was going to shoot me, I didn't want to see it coming. But, nothing came. I couldn't hear anyone following me. I couldn't hear anyone calling after me. I didn't stop running. I didn't stop until I made it as far as I could away. I swore my lungs would explode.

I couldn't hear anything after a couple of blocks, just the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

I was on the news the next day. "RUSSIAN ROULETTE IN JOKER RAID." and "RUSSIAN ROULETTE GOES AFTER COMMISSIONER GORDON." I didn't go after him at all. He scared me half to death and I can't imagine we didn't scare him, too.

I got the beating of a lifetime. It wasn't a matter of being in the papers. It was a matter of outshining The Joker. I probably deserved it, though. I know the rules. I knew what I was supposed to do. Harley got it pretty bad, too. I'm not sure why she got it. If she had killed him, she would've outshone The Joker, too. He would've killed her for that.

It doesn't matter, though. He doesn't need a reason.

We're sick people. Accepting this and letting it happen.

"**They are elephants, we are mice.**"

I've seen him several times since. He's not shot at me, yet. It's only a matter of time. Maybe he's paying me back for not shooting him that night, but, I doubt it. Commissioner Gordon seems like a nice man, but, no one is that nice in Gotham. He's going to get me one day. If not him, someone else.

I don't know what will happen in the future. I find myself caring less and less. I don't know if I can atone for what I've done. I doubt I can. I don't know if it will all be worth it one day. I don't know anything anymore and I feel myself becoming less and less human every day. I cannot keep focus on the things I used to and I cannot seem to hold onto what my original goal was. I'm falling farther and farther away from it. Just as I think I see it in the distance, it moves once again. I think I'll grasp it, but, I won't. I don't know where I'm going or who I am. But, if I could hold onto the belief that 'everything happens for a reason', it may lessen the sting.

But, I don't know anymore.

I just don't know.


End file.
